Based on the pathetic sound she'd made just prior to stranding him out there in Bumblefuck, Nowhere, he's almost entirely sure of the reason why. It's not the first time the bike had made that noise, and on each of those occasions, a dry, cracked fuel line was to blame. While that is an easy fix--he's done it multiple times in the past--a lack of light, tools, and parts created a teensy little hindrance in that department, meaning he was stuck there until such a time that he found what he needed. Judging by the lack of life in the surrounding area, that could be a long, long while. And it could be longer still if his present companion didn’t calm the hell down.
To her credit, in all that rambling, she had made at least one valid point. By appearance alone, this place does seem like it had been abandoned by the rest of the civilized world; the disrepair painting the old houses, the bus stop by which they stood, and even the street itself was proof enough of that. Whatever this used to be was long gone now, leaving only the empty shells surrounding the two of them. Perhaps weirder still is the fact that there was absolutely no signal out there, if her phone was anything to go off; curious, he slid a hand into his pocket to dig out his own, illuminating the screen to see--oh, well, look at that. It’s not just hers having issues. Damn, it really is starting to look like he’d ventured right off the edge of the world in his efforts to keep on Kazama’s trail...
But, like hell is he admitting to that. As far as anyone else is concerned, he’s got this under control, and perhaps there’s some degree of truth in that.
The way he sees it, there are a couple options here. The buildings around them did appear abandoned entirely. On one hand, that meant that any manner of beast or person could be holed up in them, while on the other, there’s little threat of being kicked out by the owner come morning. Clearly no one gave a crap about the place at a whole anymore, so the latter seemed unlikely. Taking refuge for the night wouldn’t be a bad idea with the chill setting in, then in the light of the morning, he’ll start walking down the highway, wheeling his beloved bike right along with him. Eventually, he’s bound to find something along the way; a town, a city, even a few inhabited homes or an area with a goddamn signal would be alright in his book. Anything but this. So, actually, on further thought why would he want to wait that long? He could just as easily head out now. The sooner the better, right? If it weren’t for the chill in the air, that would be his preference.
"I don’t know where you’re getting this ‘we’ crap from, but it’s not happening.” Only there does he notice how quiet this place is, following the faint echo of his own voice. It’s creepy as hell; to that, he can agree, too. Unfortunately, leaving this place in the dust right this minute had fallen to the very end of the potential options list. Best to take the bike and hole up ‘till morning. Not the first time he’s had to do it, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. So, he nudges the kickstand off the ground with his foot, supporting his beloved baby with a hand on her bars as he starts down the road. At the very end of that line of houses is a smaller building--an old shop of some kind, perhaps?--and that’s just where he’s headed to wait out the night.
“You can go do whatever you want,” he throws over his shoulder, turning a brief glance back out of sheer curiosity as to what she’d do. Find shelter of her own? Follow him to his? stand there and freeze? The humane side of his mind is hoping not the latter, but in the end, it’s not his problem. Her choice, her consequences to face, and he’s not going to dwell on it any more than that. Or, at least, that’s what he’ll keep telling himself. “I’m gettin’ out of here. Looks like a lot of those buildings are empty, and I bet they’re a lot warmer than it is out here. If I were you, I’d pick one and stay there ‘till morning.”
“And if you find a serial killer--ask him where we are, would ya?” A jest, of course; merely a jest intent on nothing more than needling paranoia. “I’m sick of this place already.”
